


St. Nicky

by Vindicated_Goldfish



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: A tender moment with the boys, Discussion about Andy's adventures in Rome, Found family themes, General Pretentiousness, M/M, Nicky-centric, Post-Canon, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, brief mention of the crusades, making up some parts of Nicky's backstory, talk about a meet-cute by the way, you can't stop me but should probably try anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25458940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vindicated_Goldfish/pseuds/Vindicated_Goldfish
Summary: Requiem æternam, dona ei, Domine,Et lux perpetua luceat ei:Requiescat in pace.Amen.It was an old prayer- one that had been drilled into Nicky’s skull from a very young age. Even after all these years, he still remembers the first time he spoke it aloud.Or: how Nicky's prayers have changed
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 14
Kudos: 162





	St. Nicky

**Author's Note:**

> There's probably a really compelling story in the comics and I just be over here making shit up
> 
> Btw if any of this is problematic, please inform me!  
> I just kinda wanted a to have a day a year where Nicky tries to sort out his shit (bc he seems like he internalizes everything) and Joe being a supportive and wonderful husband. 
> 
> P.s. I know some parts may be historically inaccurate but the D R A M A

_Requiem æternam, dona ei, Domine,_

_Et lux perpetua luceat ei:_

_Requiescat in pace._

_Amen._

It was an old prayer- one that had been drilled into Nicky’s skull from a very young age. Even after all these years, he still remembers the first time he spoke it aloud. 

It was a funeral, a somber event on a maddeningly sunny day on the outskirts of the city, in a small churchyard littered with wooden and stone crosses. The dirt beneath him was still damp from last night's rain 

That day the prayer rang hollow in his ears, just an echo of a lost love. 

God seemed so far out of reach that day. Perhaps that is why Nicolò dedicated his life to chasing him. 

Nicolò was the first one of the small crowd to upend a shovelful of dirt into the grave.

The dirt hit the wooden box that held the corpse with a dull thud. 

That was the day Nicolò resolved to give his life to God. 

He was fifteen. 

Sometimes Nicky wonders if God still owns his life like he did back then. 

His eyes slide open. Centuries of memories come flooding back, but the memory of his mortal life still lingers in his mind. 

He was kneeling, miles away from anyone he knew. Today it was raining- weather far more fitting for the occasion than it was nine-hundred years ago. The mud in the forest clearing only served to remind him of Genoa, back when he called it his home with a warm pride tainting his words. 

He had his small crucifix pendant clasped between his hands. He doesn’t think it will help God hear him, (Much less listen) but old habits die hard. 

The rain falls around him, stronger now, filling his ears with the sounds of the sky hitting the earth. 

Lightning flashes, and for a moment the forest is lit a blinding blue-white and the shadows melt away before the light fades and the shadows swallow the trees once more. 

Thunder, a low rumble mixed with the cracking of the air comes not even a second later, making the very earth beneath Nicky tremble. _That was nearby. Lightning’s a painful death, I should head back._

The noise and thought rouse him from his worship, and he raises his head. 

“It is rude to interrupt a man in prayer,” He whispers to the storm, the words ripped from his mouth by the wind and carried off, any remaining echoes of his supplications covered up and dragged down by the rain. 

He stumbles to his feet, clothes clinging to skin with frigid rainwater. He yanks his longsword free from the mud in front of where he kneeled, resting the flat of the blade on his shoulder as he starts the long trek back to the safehouse, where his family was waiting for him. 

-

“What do you mean he’s not here?” Nile knit her brow in confusion and frustration. “He didn’t just disappear! Why aren’t you guys concerned?”

Joe looked up from his sketchbook, laying it flat on the old wooden table in the abandoned hunting lodge. He gave a light sigh that, if Nicky was here, would probably have been a laugh. 

“Sit down, Nile. Your pacing is making me anxious. He’ll be back in time for dinner.” 

“How do you know that? He could have been kidnapped!” Nile paused, studying Andy and Joe’s faces for a moment. “You’re really not worried?” 

“No.” Joe said, picking the sketchbook back up. Andy shrugged. 

Nile sighed and sat down at the table. “As long as you’re not worried.” 

Joe took a deep breath. “He’ll be fine.” 

-

Nicky stumbled, his foot sliding in a patch of mud as he hiked up the wooded slope. Quickly, before he could tumble down the rest of the hill, he stabbed downwards with his longsword, impaling it into the soft earth. He hung desperately to the hilt, using his upper body strength to swing his legs up to solid ground. He pulled the sword from the hill, setting the muddied blade back upon his shoulder, continuing his march through the downpour. 

_Requiem æternam, dona ei, Domine,_

_Et lux perpetua luceat ei:_

_Requiescat in pace._

_Amen._

The prayer runs through his mind once more. He bites his tongue. He doesn’t want the words to become a part of him, but a part of him suspects they already have. A line for grief, a line for hope. And the final word for forgiveness, something Nicolò used to pray for almost every night. 

-

Nile looked back up at the ceiling. Just when she thinks she has finally started to figure these people out, Nicky up and vanishes and Joe and Andy start acting all cryptic. Where has he gone? Why won’t they tell her? The questions spin in her head and start to eat away at her mind. She gives in. 

“Okay, I know it’s none of my business, but you guys trust me, right?” Nile watches Andy leave the room out of the corner of her eye. She continues. “I guess I’m just curious. You don’t have to tell me.” Nile doesn’t specify, but Joe knows she’s still talking about Nicky. He carefully closes his sketchbook and sets down his pencil, leaning back to prop his elbows on the back of the chair. 

“Nile, I… I don’t think it’s my story to tell. But I know Nicky, and he won’t mention it when he comes back. I just…” Joe looked out the small window, out at the storm, thinking. He makes a decision. “I’ll tell you the basics, and you can ask him about the details later, if you want.” Nile nods, understanding. 

“Back when Nicky was a priest,” Joe started. 

“When he was a _what now?”_

“Ah,” Joe laughed. “I guess we forgot to tell you? Nicky was a catholic priest. Well before he met _me_ , that is.” Joe gave her a sly grin. Nile heard Andy laugh in the next room. 

“So,” he continued, “When Nicky was a priest, or at least when he was training to be one, ah- I think he was sixteen? Fifteen? An outbreak of disease, I can’t remember what disease, you’ll have to ask Nicky, swept through Genoa, and the church was short staffed.” Joe paused, frowning. It occurred to Nile that Joe wasn’t overly fond of the Catholic Church. 

“So, they appointed Nicky to be a funeral director.” Joe seemed lost in thought for a moment. “The first funeral he ever oversaw was his father’s. For those seven months, all he saw of God was death, starting out with the death of his first family. And I think it made him even more determined to become a priest, if I’m being honest.” 

Nile hummed, listening intently. Joe spoke again.“I can’t say I love the fact that he used to be a priest, although I tease him about it all the time. But I love Nicky, _all_ of Nicky, and that life is still very much a part of him. Besides, I can hardly complain about his faith. It’s what drove him to the holy lands, and he chased his God right into my arms.”

“God’s funny like that.” Nile said with a sad smile, fingering the small cross that hung around her own neck. 

“It’s been nine hundred and thirty-six years, now. Today is the anniversary of his father’s funeral. Nicky likes to take the day to pray, alone. He’ll be back in time for dinner.” Joe reaffirms. 

“We should probably start cooking, then.” Nile quipped. 

Joe smiled. “Now you’re speaking my language.” 

Andy had wandered back into the room at some point, and Nile twisted to see her holding the frying pan. “What are you guys waiting for? Slowpokes.” She said as she turned back to the stove. Nile and Joe laughed, standing up to start cooking, hearing the low rumble of thunder in the distance. 

-

Nicky felt the thorns tear at his clothes, his skin, as if the forest is begging him to stay. He still dragged himself through the briar, feeling the scratches close up and the sharp pain fade. He stood up on the other side of the brambles that surrounded the old wooden fence. The knees of his jeans were already covered in mud from praying, but now a decent portion of his shirt was too, along with blood from his scratches. At least the rain was helping wash it out. He heard more thunder in the distance. He set his sword back on his shoulder and continued on. 

-

They didn’t have much in the way of fresh ingredients, but they did have some scraps here and there- a couple carrots, a stalk of celery, a small bag of frozen green peas, and, for whatever reason, a single radish. Nile cut these up and thawed the peas while Joe butchered the rabbit Andy had caught that morning. 

Once she was done, she got out an old copper pot she had found in the cupboard, cleaning it out and setting it on the stove, next to the frying pan. Joe, finished cutting up the rabbit, gave the cuts of meat to Andy, who started searing them in the pan. Nile then got out the stock Nicky and Joe had made yesterday by boiling down some pheasant bones with salt. She sidled up next to Andy, sharing in the warmth of the stove and poured the stock in the pot, tossing in the vegetables soon after, stirring them as they started to simmer. 

Andy looked at her. “We can put the rabbit in, it’s mostly done cooking.” Nile nodded, moving over so Andy could do so, seasoning it one last time and stirring it before putting the lid on the pot and lowering the heat slightly.

Now they just had to wait for a knock upon the door.

-

He saw the light from the windows in the distance- like the beacon of a lighthouse shines out to a lost sailor during a storm. _A lost sailor,_ he mused. _Is that what I am?_ He walked towards the light, and It became warmer- he thought he saw Nile pass by the window, silhouetted by the glow inside. Closer, closer now he walked, until the things behind the light began to sharpen into recognizable shapes. 

Nicky’s heart fluttered in his chest. Even after all these years, Joe made Nicky feel alive. NIcky stopped, caught in the moment, a spectator as Joe sat down at the table and pushed aside Nicky’s book to clear room, eyes gently sparkling like the afternoon sunlight dances across a small pond.

He heard the prayer, an unwelcome whisper of the past. A reminder of who he used to be. 

_Requiem æternam, dona ei, Domine,_

_Et lux perpetua luceat ei:_

_Requiescat in pace._

_Amen._

_No,_ he decided. _I’m not a lost sailor. My family is my home, and they are with me now._

He knocked on the door. 

-

Joe opened the door. 

“ _Caio_.” Nicky said with a tired smile. Joe looked him up and down, taking in his appearance. He was soaking wet- the front of his shirt and jeans was covered in mud and torn in places, and Joe could see patches of dark red, even though the wounds had healed. 

Joe returned the smile and stepped aside to let Nicky in. Nile and Andy waved from the kitchen, where Nile was already taking the pot of stew off the stove and setting out bowls. 

Nicky started to walk over to them, but Joe stopped him. “No, you are going to change your clothes before you even _think_ about setting foot in the kitchen.” Nicky sighed and turned to go search for some new clothes. Joe followed him. 

As soon as they were out of earshot from the kitchen, Nicky raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to watch me change, dear?” 

“Yes.” Joe replied without hesitation. Nicky laughed softly. 

Nicky found a pair of dry clothes and changed, hanging the torn and muddied pair from the low rafters to dry. He just had finished when he felt a pair of warm, strong arms encircle his waist from behind. 

“Nile was worried about you, you know.” Joe said quietly. 

“She’s new. Doesn’t know me as well.” 

“I was worried too.” Joe admitted. 

Nicky turned in his arms to face him. He hugged Joe back, squeezing him tightly and burying his face in the crook between Joe’s neck and shoulder. “I don’t want you to worry.” 

“I know.” Joe breathed. “Did you find a church?” 

“No.” 

“Probably good. No church would let you in, muddy as you were.” Nicky chuckled against Joe’s chest. 

“You’d be surprised.” 

“If priest Nicolò saw muddy Nicky at the door of his church, would he let him in?”

“I don’t know what priest Nicolò would do.” Nicky paused and drew back, looking Joe in the eye. “Seems like so long ago.” 

“It _was_ long ago, dear. You’re almost as old as some of your saints.” 

“So I don’t need holy ground to pray.” Joe smiled, and Nicky leaned in to kiss him softly. He rested his forehead against Joe’s. “You know, In his journals, my old friend Lèo described me as a martyr.” 

“Ah, so you are a saint.” 

“I don't see why not.” Nicky grinned. Joe pressed a kiss to Nicky’s cheek, right under his cheekbone. 

“You think you’re joking.” Joe said fondly, brushing Nicky’s hair back. “Now, will St. Nicky be joining us for dinner?” 

“He will.” 

-

Joe and Nicky emerged just as Nile set the final glass of water on the table. Andy smirked at them from where she was washing her hands. 

“You have fun helping him change?” She asked Joe. Joe walked over and playfully shoved her on the arm, lining up to wash his hands too. Nicky’s cheeks turned rosy, embarrassed even after nine hundred years of such teasing. 

They all sat down at the table, ladling the stew into their bowls and tearing chucks off a loaf of bread they were too lazy to cut. The house didn’t have working lights- all the lightbulbs had long since died and the switches broken. The table was lit by an old-fashioned wire-and-glass lamp that sat in the middle and cast an warm orange glow over them, making flittering shadow versions of them move across the walls, like a darkened mirror full of mirth. 

Nile groaned. 

“The soup that bad?” Andy asked with a sly grin. 

“No, I just realized that I don’t really know anything about you guys. I could ask a thousand questions, and still not know all the things you’ve seen.” 

“No,” Joe reasoned, “But you know us as we are now, and you know all the things we’ve seen by your side, so whatever we were before does not matter.” He gave Nicky’s hand a squeeze under the table. 

“Besides, I don’t know if anyone could hear about half the things Andy has seen without their heads imploding.” Nicky teased as he squeezed Joe’s hand back. “I once asked her about old roman bread stamps and got a four-hour lecture on Inflation during the reign of Augustus and how the church ruined latin.” 

“I would apologize, knowing you speak bastardized church latin, but I also won’t because I’m right.” 

“ _Ecclestiastical latin,_ and I only ever speak it when I’m praying. You’ve spent the last eight hundred years correcting my latin, so at this point, if I make any mistakes it’s really your fault.” 

“Hold up. You were in Rome?” Nile asked Andy. 

“A little off topic, but yeah, I was everywhere.” Andy shrugged. 

“Did you see… like, anyone important?” 

“You’re going to have to be more specific.” 

“I don’t know… like J.C.?

“Jesus…?” Nicky murmured, confused. 

“No, y’know, Julius Caesar.”

“Well, to start off with, _Julius Caesar. Yoo-li-us ky-sar.”_

“Is that how it’s really pronounced?” 

“Yeah.” 

“That… changes everything.”

“Pretty much every Roman name you know today, you learned the wrong pronunciation for.” Joe helped. 

“They’re all turning in their graves.” Nicky said with a smirk. 

“Yeah, they were always so proud of their names. Romans were weird like that.” Andy laughed. 

“But did you know him?” 

“Not really, but I was in Rome the day he was assassinated. I got out pretty fast after the people started rioting, though.”

“I feel like you helped murder Caesar.” Nile squinted. 

“No! I was just passing through Rome, I was heading north.”

They leaned forwards, suspicious. 

“I mean he was an asshole, but why would I waste my time killing him?”

“Because you knew something about him that we don’t know.” Joe raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

“Because you had a personal vendetta.” Nile said, feeding off this idea.

“Or maybe you were hoping Rome would fall.” Nicky posited. 

“Look, I didn’t kill Caesar-” Andy reasoned. 

“If it walks like a duck,” Joe started.

“I was, however, talking to Cassius a few months before-”

“And talks like a duck,”

“about how much of a jerk Caesar was-”

“-then Andy helped murder Julius Caesar.”

“-and I may have made a joke about killing him.” Andy finished lamely.

“Way to go, Boss.” 

Andy shrugged. “It was funny at the time, I didn’t know it would give the man murder plot fantasies.” 

They all laughed.

-

There were two bedrooms in the hunting lodge, which meant that Joe and Nicky got a room to themselves, a welcome change from the usual, which consisted of them sleeping on the floor surrounded by the rest of the team. 

They had snuffed out the lamps until the cabin was dark, leaving one flickering in Joe and Nicky’s room, illuminating where Joe was curled up on the bed and where Nicky sat on the edge, cleaning and sharpening his sword.

He was focused on honing the blade, polishing it until he saw a smudged reflection of the ceiling on the silver surface. The familiar task sent him back in time, to the hundreds of hours he had spent taking care of his longsword. As a young boy, when he was first learning how to wield it. As passenger on a ship in the Mediterranean, headed east. Outside the walls of a great city, telling himself it was the will of God. Watching the sunrise on a balcony in Malta. 

He heard the words again, fainter this time. He hears himself speak it, but this time his voice is deeper, older. He catches a glimpse into the memory as he tilts the blade, seeing the endless sand of the desert broken up and stained with blood. He sees himself, his priestly robes long traded for chainmail. He sees himself tear his eyes away from the sky to gaze at the bodies surrounding his feet. He sees himself whisper it. 

_Requiem æternam, dona eis, Domine,_

_Et lux perpetua luceat eis:_

_Requiescant in pace._

_Amen._

He hears Joe’s voice, distantly, quiet and rough with sleep. 

“Nicky, come to bed.”

“In a moment, love.”

He heard Joe roll over, the sheet rustling as he turned to look at Nicky’s back. Nicky spared a glance over his shoulder and felt his heart melt. He loved seeing Joe like this; all soft around the edges, his shirt riding up, hair flattened against the pillow, dark eyes shining. Nicky sheathed his sword and stood up, changing into a pair of sweatpants. 

He walked back to the bed, but didn’t get in. He knelt down, eye-level with Joe, who watched him wordlessly. Nicky grabbed Joe’s hand, bringing it closer to him and clasping it between his own hands. He kissed Joe’s knuckles and let his eyes slide shut. 

And this time, as he prayed, he held Joe’s hand instead of his crucifix. He listened to the sound of Joe breathing instead of the rain. 

And this time, as he prayed, he prayed not for his father or his first family. He prayed for the Nicolò that they knew, the pious and loyal priest that died outside the gates of Jerusalem. 

He prayed for the man he was before he met Joe. 

**_Eternal rest, grant unto him, O Lord,_ **

**_and let perpetual light shine upon him:_ **

**_May he rest in peace._ **

**_Amen._ **

**Author's Note:**

> So there you go. I think I might do an A.U. next, there a severe lack of them here so far  
> also-  
> Why proper gay representation matters: this is the first movie I saw with it and I COULD NOT stop  
> grinning like a maniac. There is People like me!!! Who can be happy!!!! I spent like an hour ranting to my cat about how much I love these two before I sat down to start writing this. 
> 
> P.s. my cat says gay rights


End file.
